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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26189368">Like Father, Like Son</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassdamask/pseuds/glassdamask'>glassdamask</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Saint Seiya, 聖闘士星矢: 冥王神話 | Saint Seiya: The Lost Canvas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Family Dinners, Family Drama, Family Issues, Family resemblance, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gold Saints - Freeform, Introspection, Late Night Conversations, Platonic Relationships</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:56:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>998</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26189368</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassdamask/pseuds/glassdamask</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Regulus asks his uncle a question. [revised]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leo Regulus &amp; Sagittarius Sisyphos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Like Father, Like Son</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>it's been forever since i've read lost canvas, so i'm taking some liberties w regulus, illias &amp; sisyphus' situation here. hope it's not too bad</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The two were eating dinner when Regulus brought it up.</p><p>  "What kind of person was my father?"</p><p>  Sisyphus paused for a moment and looked up from his soup. His nephew's eyes were downcast, stuck on the spoon he sat fiddling with. Normally so outgoing and frank, it was clear he was uncomfortable, trying to avoid his uncle's gaze. The sudden pang that shot through Sisyphus nearly knocked the wind out of him. While Illias wasn't a regular topic of conversation between the two, they'd still opened up a fair amount over time. Sisyphus felt he'd made it clear enough to the boy that, should he ever feel curious, to never fear asking about him—after all, it's not as if he'd be denied information about his own father.</p><p>  Had he ever given the impression that he wouldn't talk about Illias to his own son? Sisyphus rushed to rack his brain for any evidence behind this random concern of his. Not finding any examples in recent memory should have reassured him, but it didn't.</p><p>  In that uneasy moment Sisyphus realized his silence and cleared his throat. He took another moment to string together the right words. "Your father was," <em>perfect</em> edged closer and closer to the edge of his tongue. "...an ideal knight: kind, wise, courageous—"</p><p>  Sisyphus froze, watching Regulus visibly deflate. Had he misspoke? He opened his mouth to ask but was stopped.</p><p>  "That's all anyone ever says about him," Regulus said. His voice was low, controlled, but Sisyphus struggled not to flinch at his words, as if he'd shouted them at the top of his lungs. Granted, Illias wasn't some taboo topic in Sanctuary, but were others talking to Regulus about his father? Had he asked them (before coming to him) or was it unprompted? The thought didn't sit well with him, but he managed to push it aside for the moment as Regulus went on.</p><p>  "That he's strong and perfect"—focus still on his food, he didn't notice his uncle tense at the descriptions—"but nothing else."</p><p>  His voice cracked mid-sentence,—and like that, Sisyphus no longer saw a fellow saint, fated to lay down their lives for their ideals; he saw a boy—<em>his</em> boy—nearly in tears and utterly alone in his pain.</p><p>  It was unfair, to expect him to endure such suffering—and by himself, no less. Sisyphus had lost a brother, but he had memories and experience to fall back on; Regulus, on the other hand, barely able to remember his father's face, had nothing. Nothing but hollow assurances of his father's prowess as a saint. Not enough stories could truly make up for that.</p><p>  At the thought a wave of nausea swept over Sisyphus, but he refused to look away. He was too absorbed in trying to comprehend what Regulus must have felt all this time.</p><p>  No wonder he hadn't come to him sooner—how could he have possibly understood all the boy's had to go through? He doesn't deserve to be constantly reminded of how absolute and faultless Illias was—he needed comfort and understanding, two things Sisyphus was convinced he'd failed to give him.</p><p>  Instead, he stood by and let Regulus train and take on the mantle his father had unwittingly passed down to him. Illias, in failing health, had relinquished his sainthood and spent the remainder of his life protecting what was left of his family—and for what? For his only son to take his place and risk dying on the very battlefield he left?</p><p>  The boy's gifted and determined; it's likely a simple no wouldn't have kept Regulus away for long, but he should have done <em>something</em>. Anything to show him that this wasn't worth losing him. And a boy saying he wants to follow in his father's footsteps doesn't mean he's at all prepared for the hell he was to endure—he should have stepped in, should have sent him away.</p><p>  <em>I should have done something.</em> On darker, restless nights these thoughts would plague Sisyphus' mind, never leaving him until the passing of dawn. He would lay awake, dreaming of a life in which Illias never created a family of his own. He'd wonder at how differently a life Regulus could have lived had he been born under different circumstances, into a world completely unaware of the Sanctuary's eternal fighting and death.</p><p>  The familiar, suffocating fear of having failed his boy began to once again rear its ugly head, but it was soon interrupted by the sound of sniffling. Heart rending, Sisyphus fought the urge to both kick himself and run to his nephew. Sitting there, rooted into place, his nephew looked up at him for the first time since taking his seat for dinner. At a complete loss at what to say, Sisyphus took the time to study his nephew's features.</p><p>  Even now, vulnerable as he was, the boy attempted to steel himself under the other's mild scrutiny. But now, the flash of pain in his eyes wasn't hidden behind a lopsided grin, but rather a tense frown. His face was still too round, too cherubic to compare with his father's gaunt features. His brown spikes of hair more closely resembled his own than his brother's sandy blond, and his skin was much more tan, more healthy than his father's. But his eyes.</p><p>  His eyes belonged to Illias.</p><p>  A deeper blue than his own, it brought to mind times long before. Times when those eyes used to smile down at him. Times before illness took him away. Now those same eyes looked to him, scared and in need of guidance he fears (knows) he can't give.</p><p>  Swallowing the lump that's been in his throat for years now was no longer an option; in seconds Sisyphus was sniffling right alongside his nephew. With eyes strained and tear-dimmed, Sisyphus jumped from his seat and ran around the table, sweeping his nephew up in a hug.</p><p>  It's painful, but it's no longer something Regulus will face alone. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i seriously need to work on my dialogue.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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